The Lost Recipe for Happiness - By Barbara O'Neal Page 0,114

You might want to see what you can do.”

The first breath of hope she’d had in twenty-four hours lightened Elena’s heart. “Oh, that’s great news. Do you know when?”

“It’s supposed to run on Valentine’s Day, so they have to start choosing restaurants soon.”

“Thank you, Mia. Seriously.”

“Try to forgive me, will you?”

“I’m working on it.”

Julian was disappointed, but not surprised to find Elena gone when he awakened. His habit was to run long on Sunday mornings, and it had taken some adjustments to figure out how to work in six miles on snowy roads, but he had the gear and had learned which roads would likely be plowed first and regularly. Most days, he was on straight pavement or mud. This morning, there was a fresh layer of snow, but he had found some netting to fit over his shoes to give a better grip, and in all but the worst conditions it provided the traction he needed. The day was sharp and bright, very still under the blanket of snow. There were footprints ahead of his—one of the things he most liked about Colorado was the way people surged outside, hungry for the snow and sun and fresh air in a way he rarely saw elsewhere. Southern Californians loved plenty of exercise, too, but the weather quality couldn’t hope to compete.

The run shook a lot of darkness out of his pores, and he headed back feeling clearer. He showered and went down to the kitchen, finding that Elena had put a covered plate of churros and tortillas, leftovers from service last night, on the counter. He skipped them, knowing Portia would gobble them up, and made himself some peanut butter toast, his usual post-run breakfast, along with a pot of coffee.

As the coffee brewed, he fired up the laptop he’d left on the counter, and settled in, pushing up his sleeves to run his daily rounds. He started with email, of course, which had little of interest on a Sunday morning, and then waded out into the industry sites—Variety and the Los Angeles Times—for anything of notice. Nothing much. The coffee finished, and he poured himself a big mugful and then tried to see what he could find out about last night’s grand opening. Somebody somewhere would have written about it, he was sure.

Julian loved the Internet for instant feedback. He had not expected any reviews to show up in the major Colorado papers after last night—it was too soon—but he could find information and reaction in several other ways. First he simply Googled Orange Bear and found mention of the restaurant—the announcement of the opening and the good review from the Aspen Daily. Next, he moved to a few restaurant review sites he knew and checked to see if anyone had posted yet—these were often nasty rather than nice, because it was more fun to be witty and evil than to write about great service and great food.

Not that the Orange Bear had delivered that last night. He didn’t blame anyone except bureaucracy, and he assumed theirs was not the only restaurant in town that had been hit last night, but the other restaurants were already established, with whatever reputations they’d earned to this point. The Orange Bear was not, and he wanted to get a handle on what might have been said.

Not even anything there, though he did see a positive mention on one site, just a couple of lines praising the food and décor. “Great remodel!”

Then he searched blogs from several places. Still not much, but one chilled him: a Food and Wine reviewer had been there last night, and savaged the food, the long wait, the “inept” vision of chef Elena Alvarez. It was a blog piece now, but Julian feared it would show up elsewhere, and the weight of the reviewer was substantial enough that the review could cause real damage.

Damn. What were the alternatives? Invite the man back? Ignore it? Explain? No, never that.

Something, though. Something.

THIRTY-SIX

THE ULTIMATE RESTORATIVE CHICKEN SOUP

Because there are those poor souls who will never like chiles

Olive oil

1 high-quality, whole stewing chicken, cut into pieces

1 large onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 stalks celery, sliced

2 big carrots, sliced

Salt and pepper

Water

If desired, noodles or rice

Wash and dry the chicken, and tuck gizzards, liver, and neck into cheesecloth tied with string or a cooking bag. Cover the bottom of a big heavy pot with olive oil and let the onions and garlic warm. Add the chicken pieces, vegetables, salt and pepper, and water to